Catalyst
by VickytoriaGreengrass
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is one cataclysmic event to completely turn your life around. Whether this is for better or for worse, Draco Malfoy is about to find out.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything

* * *

Prologue

_(June 1__st__ 1999)_

The blood red eyes of the Dark Lord stared down at the crippled woman in disgust. She lay there shaking, shoulders slumped and head bent forward in dejection, no longer willing to fight. She lay there broken, no longer the proud, haughty and loyal wife to his most faithful follower.

Her hair fell limp down her back, dirty and matted. Her face was stretched and pale, marred by vicious cuts and the residue of dried blood. There was no life to her; her face lay vacant, and the only emotion that flickered in her eyes was fear. Her famed beauty was gone, replaced with a shell of the woman she had once been.

She was _weak_.

Voldemort's smile was twisted and feral as he admired his handiwork, and allowed himself a cruel, mirthless laugh.

He had well and truly destroyed her.

"Pathetic, isn't she?"

His hand lashed out and backhanded her. The sound of his flesh hitting hers and her ear-splitting scream of agony echoed off the walls.

"Indeed, my Lord." Lucius Malfoy surveyed the woman with cool indifference, grey eyes a blank slate.

The woman flinched at the sound of Malfoy's voice, and Voldemort watched, in detached intrigue, as she drew herself closer, as if she could protect herself from their brutal onslaught by this one action.

She was scared. He could smell it, feel it, _taste_ it.

It was positively delightful.

"Scared to look at your husband, Narcissa?" He hissed, yanking her up by her mangled blonde hair. Her blue gaze was fixed in horror as she was forced to look at Lucius. The witch whimpered, as she felt her hair tear away from her scalp.

"My Lord," Lucius began silkily, unfazed by the current situation. "If I may be so prudent as to ask: what is it that my wife has done to anger you so greatly?"

Voldemort surveyed the tall blond man, red eyes narrowed into slits. Anger pulsed off of him in waves. "Your wife, Lucius, is nothing more than a blood traitor, who has been passing on some incredibly valuable information to that _blasted_ Order. She's betrayed us all." His voice rose into a shout, and without a second thought he brandished his wand and spat out "_Crucio_."

His captive's tortured shrieks were raw and relentless, leaving the witch no room for breath. Narcissa twitched uncontrollably, writhing violently from the unbearable pain that had ensnared her senses. Sweat, blood and tears poured out from her body…

Her screams continued long after the curse had been lifted.

"I see," Lucius murmured, jaw clenched in apparent anger. His grey eyes flashed, hardening to dark pools of silver. "How very foolish of her."

The Dark Lord purred his agreement. "Betrayal, as you are aware, is a punishment worthy of _death_." He bent down, placed his thin lips against the shell of Narcissa's ear and whispered softly. "Did you remember that when you decided to leak information to the Order, Narcissa? Did you? Or perhaps you thought that you wouldn't get caught?" He pulled away, his tone harshened. "Lord Voldemort always knows, Narcissa. _Always_. It would have done you well to remember that; nothing ever escapes me."

The broken woman flinched as Voldemort's foul breath teased her ear.

"Do you love your wife, Lucius?" Voldemort questioned, gaze still fixed on Narcissa. His request seemed simple enough, but under all the layers, Lucius Malfoy knew that it spoke volumes.

"No, my Lord." Lucius' bold reply came without hesitation. "Love makes you weak."

"Yes, Malfoy, it does." The Dark Lord finally released his grip, and Narcissa fell like a puppet whose strings had snapped. "Now," he stepped back to admire his creation, "if you would be so kind, Lucius, it seems my patience has worn thin. Please, dispose of this blood traitor; I have no more use for the creature."

The cowering witch let out a gasp, and her head shot up, life suddenly sparking in her eyes. "Lucius, please…" she slurred, using what little energy she had to vocalise her plea. Her voice was dry and raspy, destroyed from her continuous screams under torture.

Without hesitation, Lucius drew his wand and pointed it at his sobbing wife.

"Such a pity," Voldemort chided, caressing Narcissa's cheek. "She was a rather pretty thing."

"Avada Kedavra," her husband snarled. A jet of acid green light shot from his wand and struck Narcissa squarely in the chest.

For a second, her eyes widened…

The sobbing stopped…

And then…

Lucius Malfoy watched as the lifeless body of his wife crumpled to the floor.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to _Catalyst_ my new Draco/Hermione. This story actually came to me ages ago (and by ages ago, I mean like February of this year) but due to various things I've only now been able to start focusing on it etc. This will be set, primarily, 2 years after HBP though elements of DH will come into it from time to time. There will also be flashbacks which will either impact the arc and scope of the chapter you're reading or, in time, the wider arc of the story as well. However, not all will be as it seems…

Updates, I hope, will try to be every other week – I'm super busy with my final year of university (I'm only like 3 weeks in, it's depressing) and that will be my main priority. Plus, a majority of these chapters will be fairly lengthy and so it will take a fair amount of time to write them as well. If I can update earlier than normal – well, you're very lucky indeed; if I don't update when I say I can/or should of done, please bear with me.

Anywho, without further ado, I just want to say that I really hope that you liked this chapter. As the title implies this is the trigger for everything, and it is therefore from this point that the story will divulge. Thank you so much for reading and please let me know your thoughts with a review!

VickytoriaGreengrass


	2. I: Revelation

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

I: Revelation

(_June 1__st__ 1999)_

"Every action has a consequence, Draco. It will serve you well to remember that."

_Draco Malfoy had been eight years old when his father had first spoken those words to him. At the time, they had barely registered – too busy sulking over being grounded for something-or-other, if he recalled correctly – but now, as he stood hidden, watching his mother's body fall gracelessly to the ground, Lucius' words rang with such clarity, that the young Malfoy was silently shaken by the sudden intensity by which they had hit. _

_In fact, combined with the reality of the situation he had just been forced to witness, they were like a punch to the gut. And it had hurt – a lot. _

_The truth always did._

_Life lessons had always been a particular with his father, as a way to ensure that Draco would grow up to become the man that _he _wanted him to be. So far, he had been somewhat disappointed, but still held onto the hope that one day Draco would make him proud. Lucius also held onto the hope that the Dark Lord would win, and with the chances of that dwindling all the time, Draco wouldn't be surprised if his father's expectations came to nothing, save for a pretty little cell in Azkaban. _

"Everything you do will impact you for the rest of your life, so take heed. Not all outcomes will be to your liking, but you accept them and move on; striving to better yourself. Sometimes, they'll bring you to two roads, in which you can only take one."

_Like now_.

_The consequences of _this _particular action had most definitely left Draco at a fork in the road._

"Always be prepared, Draco. You never know what life is going to throw at you, and what path you will have to take. Just make sure you choose the right one."

_Choices. Life was full of them. _

_In recent years, it'd be fair to say that Draco had made quite a few decisions; none of which had been particularly beneficial on his part. Becoming a Death Eater, playing a role in Dumbledore's death, and then a few other… misdemeanours, he guessed you could say, had landed him in a rather nasty spot. This, however, somewhat surpassed all his previous decisions – or so the young man reckoned._

_For Draco, the two options were obvious, but only one was easy. The first choice – the coward's choice, the stereotypical Slytherin choice – would be to remain silent, and guiltily accept his mother's death without protest, and continue to act like the apparently good Death Eater he had become. The second choice – the idiot's choice, the without-a-doubt Gryffindor choice – was to do… _something_. _

_Draco knew all too well what option he was (regrettably) going to take. _

_In a different situation, Draco would have probably smirked at the irony of it all; in this instant, even with the options, there had never really been a choice. A brief look down to where his mother's still body lay had made sure of that. He _knew _that he couldn't just let his mother's death – _

"_Thank you, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, bowing his head slightly. "You truly are loyal to my cause." _

_Eyes aghast, mouth still hung open in soundless shock, Draco watched as the Dark Lord swept from the manor's drawing room, letting the door slam shut with a reverberating bang, completely unfazed by the fact that he had just ordered and then watched one of his minion's murder their own wife in cold blood. _

_Draco closed his mouth, counted to three, and let out a shaky breath._

_It was now or never. _

_Pushing the tapestry aside, Draco stepped out of the hidden corridor and into the room. Lucius, who had remained quite still and silent since his utterance of the Killing Curse, looked up from where he had been staring at the body of his dead wife. _

"_Draco," he commented lightly. For a second, Draco saw shock flash across his father's eyes, before quickly sliding his all-to-familiar mask back into place. _

"_Father," Draco spat back, as he walked purposely forward. His jaw was set, and his grey eyes hardened. Drawing level, he stopped. _

_His gaze never wavered as he stared defiantly back at Lucius, daring him to throw a curse uncaringly at him, much in the same way he had at Mother. However, the moment he briefly let his gaze wonder down to Narcissa's body, the shock hit Draco again full force, and the young man faltered._

"_What have you done?" He gasped out, almost staggering as his composure slipped. The only thing that stopped him from falling to his knees was the thought of showing such a sign of weakness in front of his father. _

_Lucius didn't deem his son's question with a reply._

_Draco continued to stare between the frozen figure of his father and the still body at his feet. The clear blue eyes of his mother looked up at him, glassy with death and a fear that only the Killing Curse could instil._

"_She's dead; your own wife. You killed her." _

_Still Lucius remained silent, face a mask of cool indifference, not an ounce of remorse to be seen. _

_Bile rose, his stomach clenched painfully, and his lungs burned. _

_Draco saw red. _

_He was blind to anything accept for the rage and pain that coursed through his veins. It was his oxygen, his lifeline, his only hold on his sanity. "Why?" He ground out, fist clenching around the end of his wand. "_Why_?" He repeated, this time with even more force. _

"_Are you daring to question the Dark Lord's wishes, Draco?" Lucius drawled, voice laced with warning. _

_The blatant disregard to Draco's demanding question, hit him with full force. His sneer became more prominent, and he raised his wand. His father lifted an eyebrow, daring his son to throw a spell. When none came, he cleared his throat and continued. _

"_I presume you heard everything?" His son glared and nodded. "Well, if that is the case, then I can't see why we're having this discussion. I live to do my master's bidding, Draco; he commands it, and I obey without hesitation."_

"_She was your wife!" Draco countered. "And you killed her. I saw you, Father; you didn't even flinch."_

"_She was a blood traitor," Lucius replied, looking bored against his son's anger. "She betrayed you, she betrayed me, and she betrayed the Dark Lord. She betrayed the_ _cause. After such an act, there was no more use for her."_

"_There was _every_ use for her!" Draco's voice was steadily growing hoarse, and his wand was shaking uncontrollably. What little he had left of his reason was slipping. "No matter what you said to _him, _Father, I know the truth; you loved her, and deep down this is destroying you. Perhaps not yet, but it will."_

"_I have no love for blood traitors," Lucius explained calmly, though Draco had already taken note of his father's stiffening posture._

"_Well then, Father," Draco spat out, so lost in his anger that he failed to realise what he was starting to say. "That most surely means you have no love for me, either." _

_The silence was deafening, eating away at Draco as his anger gradually faded, and the words he had snarled out sank in. _

Shit.

_The look he was receiving from Lucius was almost murderous, and there was a nasty vein pulsing at his temple, ready to burst, as he tried to keep control of his suddenly erratic emotions. Then, with a quick close of the eyes and a deep breath, the elder Malfoy was in check once more._

"_What?" Lucius questioned, his voice deadly quiet. It was silky and smooth, and covered all the anger that had previously been written across his face, like an open book._

_Forcing down the nauseous feeling, Draco quickly relaxed his lips into a smirk._

_This was what he had wanted after all, wasn't it? This had been the reason for his choice, right?_

"_The Dark Lord really must be losing his touch, Father, if _he _honestly thought that it was Mother who went behind his back." His drawl was the perfect imitation of Lucius'. He lowered his wand slightly, and with his free hand he brushed a piece of imaginary lint off of his clothes. "Naturally, she may have _accidentally _let slip some of his plans to me once or twice, which she no doubt learnt from you, but it was never –"_

"_Are you to tell me, Draco," Lucius interrupted, voice barely above a whisper. "That _both_ you and Narcissa…?" He left his question hanging._

_Draco let out a short, wry laugh. "Oh no, Father," he began, shaking his head. "What I'm _trying_ to say is that Mother never betrayed you or the Dark Lord… _intentionally_. She was loyal to you and the cause, right up until the minute you murdered her." The look on Lucius' face had changed again; unable to mask his feelings, there was an unmistakable look of horror twisting its way through his features, as the realisation hit him._

_Despite the overwhelming pain that Draco felt from Narcissa's death, the satisfaction at his father's lack of control, something which he had rarely seen up until this point, gave Draco a sense of empowerment that he'd never quite felt before. Not even from during his Hogwarts days, where he had strutted around the castle, mercilessly bullying fellow students. No, there was something… refreshing about this feeling; there was an almost tangible element to it. _

_Draco's reply was slow and ruthless, as he revelled in the feeling of having control over Lucius for the first time in his life. He knew that each word he spoke would be like a punch to the stomach, a knife to the heart. "That's right, Father, it was me." His silver eyes were alight with a maliciousness that no one had quite seen before. "For the past two years, _I _anonymously passed information on to the Order. Not Mother, not anybody else, for that matter; it was always me." _

(_5__th__ June 1999_)

"Why are you here, Malfoy?"

The already grim line of Draco's mouth thinned again, and the urge to roll his eyes like a petulant child heightened.

_So_, they were back to that old chestnut. Lovely.

"I don't know," Draco answered, shrugging. "Why don't you tell me? It's not like we've been over this question a hundred times already." He smirked slightly as his interrogator's nostrils flared.

"Well, I'm asking you again," Lupin replied, forcing his voice to remain as calm as possible. "You are only going to make this more difficult on yourself if you decide to remain uncooperative. The more honest you are with us, the easier it will be. Just… remember that."

"I have been honest," the blond stated, inspecting his nails with indifference. He lazily rolled his grey eyes up to meet a pair of frustrated hazel. "It's not my fault you're not willing to trust me."

The two people opposite him balked, bruised by the Slytherin's astute assessment. Lupin, who had gone quite pale at Draco's accusation, quickly composed himself. The woman to his right, on the other hand, wore a look of open contempt; a similar expression he had seen before, though on a very different face.

"You've yet to give us a reason to," Lupin's companion spat, her bright pink hair morphing into a fiery red, as she glowered at him. "We may share the same blood, but that does –"

"Dora, _please_." The werewolf shot her a look which clearly told her that she wasn't helping.

Tonks' mouth shut with a snap, and the look she sent Lupin would've made lesser men cower. Draco felt a small pinch of respect towards the older wizard in front of him; to get involved with a woman who was a Black – although perhaps not recognised as one – took a lot of guts. _Especially_ when they were as temperamental as this one.

"I've given you every reason, my _dear_ cousin," Draco taunted, his gaze shifting from his former professor to land on the Auror. "Two _years_' worth, I may hasten to add."

Tonks bristled at Draco's snide tone, but made the right choice in remaining silent.

"That remains to be seen, Malfoy," the lycanthrope interjected calmly. "Now, if you would be so kind, answer the question."

The young Malfoy's face darkened once more and he noticed that Tonks was taking deep delight in his lack of comfort. Lupin's face continued to remain passive, but Draco recognised the soft glint of pleasure within his hazel eyes. Perhaps it was at Draco's uneasiness too or perhaps at the interactions of his wife and her cousin. Either way, he knew he didn't like it; the look was too familiar.

"We're still waiting, Malfoy."

_Impatient sod_, Draco thought, sneering. _Yes, they may not have _known _that it was me, but haven't I done enough?_

It had been four days since – since everything had changed. Four days in which Draco had lost his mother, blown his cover, and then swallowed his pride and finally revealed himself to the Order as their spy. And the welcome he had received thus far, in spite of all this, had been far from what he had –

Oh, who was he trying to kid?

_Of course_, they were going to be weary. He _was_ Draco Malfoy after all. But, when that was all said and done, a little bit of leeway would have been nice, considering he had put his neck on the line for them, going against everything he had ever believed in.

Not that they saw it that way, by the look of things.

Their reaction hadn't helped matters at all; Draco had immediately gone on the defensive, determined to make Lupin and Tonks' interrogation as difficult as possible. If they weren't going to give him a chance, then he was not about to give them one either. As far as he was concerned, it worked both ways.

"We're still waiting for an answer, Malfoy," Tonks reminded again, breaking him away from further thought. "I have no time for your crap, so get on with it. You should be grateful that we're evening listening to you. If I had had it my way, it would've been straight to Azkaban. Someone else, however –" here she glanced at Lupin "– had other ideas."

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the woman's threat, though externally he remained as calm and composed as ever. He grinned lazily and began to speak before Tonks could talk again.

"You know, _Dora_," he began, relishing in her discomfort as he used the werewolf's affectionate name for her. "You really could give our Aunt Bella a run for her money with that temper of yours; positively frightening."

At his words, the atmosphere changed once more; this time, he was receiving glares from both Remus and Tonks. If looks could kill, then he would most definitely be dead.

_But why would…?_ Draco's line of thought trailed off into the abyss of his mind, as a faint memory bubbled to the surface.

"_Fility Mudblood!" _Bellatrix Lestrange's cackle bounced off the inside of his mind, as the image of her standing over the dead body of a masticated man, his face almost unrecognisable, flashed before his eyes. _"That'll show our traitorous sister for marrying a dirty Muggle!"_

Draco's amusement quickly turned to guilt as he remembered that ordeal, though he didn't let that show on his features. In his two years as a spy, Ted Tonks had been one of the only unfortunate few that had not benefited from Draco's valuable information; despite getting word to the Order, they had still been too late –

"Listen, Malfoy," Remus growled, nose curling in a similar fashion to the wolf that he was. "If you don't cooperate then Tonks' threat of Azkaban will become a reality." He sent the blond a pointed look, clearly telling Draco that he was far from joking. Order spy or not, normally a reasonable man or not, they could quite easily make exceptions.

Draco let out a reluctant sigh, and began to relate his tale _again_ in a monotonous and bored tone. Tonks, he noted, was determinedly not looking at him. "The Dark Lord accused my mother of treason, and Father killed her. I confronted him, and let slip that I was the traitor. I had nowhere else to go and, with the Death Eaters hunting me down as we speak, I contacted you."

If they had thought he was going to go into the details of it all, then they had thought wrong. He had already explained the tale to them more than enough times, and the thought of giving a blow by blow account made his insides churn. Right now, he just _couldn't_.

_The clear blue eyes of his mother looked up at him, glassy with death…_

"How did Lucius react?"

Draco blinked away the image, asked Lupin to repeat his words, and frowned, still confused himself.

After his revelation, everything else seemed a blur. He remembered there being an argument, where slurs were thrown, and Draco had spat out everything he had wanted to say to his father since he had been forced into the Death Eaters at sixteen years old. Lucius had steadily grown angrier and angrier, but not once did he raise his wand, unlike Draco who had had his pointed directly at his father's chest. And then…

And then, as if he had lost all the will to fight with his son anymore, Lucius' shoulders had slumped in defeat. His dark, grey eyes were full of… something, and all Lucius could muster was a bitter, _"get out"_. Stunned by his father's sudden change in demeanour, Draco had unhesitatingly obeyed.

"He just let me go."

Even saying it now, four days on, it still didn't feel right.

Lucius' unnerving sign of weakness had scared Draco immensely, though he was loath to admit it openly; everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy didn't do weak. Wasn't the murder of his wife in cold blood mere minutes beforehand proof of that? What was another curse on his wand, if he had killed his treacherous son too?

The Lucius Malfoy Draco knew, most certainly wouldn't have hesitated. He was _sure _of it.

So then why…?

Draco's brow furrowed, a slight ache beginning to form in his head, as he remained baffled by his father's strange moment of behaviour. Something definitely didn't add up.

"He let you go?" The disbelief in the auror's voice was obvious. "He _let_ you go?" She repeated.

"Did I stutter?" Draco snapped, walls immediately piling up around him.

"But _why_?" Draco had been asking himself the same question for four days. "That's not like Lucius Malfoy at all." Tonks shared a look with her husband. "I'm sorry, Remus, but this smells like a trap to me." _We can't trust him_. The silent words lingered heavily in the air.

"I'm not asking you to trust me," Draco sneered, grey eyes hardening. "But surely I've proved myself somewhat. For the past two years, I've been passing you valuable information, at great personal risk. Not normal for a Slytherin now, is it? Yes, I know you didn't know of my identity, but I thought it'd be safer to remain anonymous." The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor across from him remained silent. Draco breathed his annoyance, and continued. "Look if it wasn't for me, a lot more people would be dead. I gave you details on all the raids I was privy too, and when you _finally_ acted on the information, the results were positive." His face darkened, as he gritted out the next part of his defence. "And, last but not least, my mother is now _dead_ because of me. Lucius and the Dark Lord killed her for my treason."

Draco hated the silence. It pressed in on him from all angles, suffocating him. His questioners were now looking directly into each other's eyes, as if they were silently communicating. Perhaps they were, for all Draco knew.

"We can't, Remus," Tonks finally whispered.

"Yes we can, Dora," Lupin replied. "I, for one, believe him. And so should you; he's your family after all." Both cousins cringed at the reminder; it was all very well teasing Tonks about their relation, but to be put into a context which spoke of familiarity made Draco inwardly hurl. Noticing the metamorphmagus' displeased expression, Lupin's eyes softened as he reminded her, "Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. It's what Albus would have wanted."

Draco stiffened at the mention of Dumbledore's name; his jaw was tight, lips pinched, and he sat in his chair, still as a statue. Every time he heard that name, it held for Draco a raw reminder of his past… and of his regrets.

"Okay, fine," Tonks huffed, relenting under Remus' gaze. However, upon looking at Draco, her eyes became hardened. "We're going to have to give him something in return, though –you know, for switching sides. He may have been spy for us the last two years, but he didn't reveal his identity until it was absolutely necessary. He's also a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't do anything unless it benefits them. _So_, what is it that you want?" The last part of her observation was directed at him.

"I want a lot of things," Draco replied evasively. "A shower, a decent night's sleep, a witch for company, a new broomstick, a nice hot meal, an island… the list goes on."

"You _know_ what we mean," His cousin hissed. "Enough with the mind games."

"You really are no fun," Draco pouted before grinning something wicked. "If you really must know, I want immunity. I want to be cleared of all charges ever put against me by the Ministry – _without_ hesitation. Sounds like a fair deal, don't you think?" He folded his arms, leant back on his chair, and looked pointedly at the husband and wife opposite.

"Don't mess this up, _Malfoy_." Tonks snarled, her hair finally turning back to its normal vibrant pink.

Draco's lips twitched as he recognised familiar ground. "Of course not, _Dora_." She bristled, before getting up and leaving the room. The blond felt the tension considerably drop and himself relax. "Nymphadora Tonks? You sure know how to pick them, Lupin."

For the first time since they had met with Draco, Lupin let out a small chuckle before turning severe once more. "You mustn't blame her for her behaviour, Malfoy. Your family have caused her a great deal of pain over the years; it's only natural that she dislikes you. Give her time, and she'll grow on you."

Draco gave Lupin a strange look. "I have no intention of getting to know her," he countered. "I may have switched sides, as it were, but that doesn't mean I'm about to make friends with you all. I still don't like you, remember."

Lupin's face fell slightly, before he shrugged. "Very well," he replied, passing Draco back his wand. He stood up to go. "I will see to it that you get a full pardon from the Ministry; you've done more than enough to prove yourself these last few years, even if you did remain anonymous. We'll be back in a few days to take you to Headquarters; I think it best that we break the news gently to everyone before we bring you there." Draco quietly agreed. "I think it's fair to say, that you are not to leave the house. I assure you, Draco, it is well protected, and so you have nothing to fear."

"I'm not scared," Draco countered. Deep down, however, he was bloody petrified.

"I never said you were," Lupin reprimanded gently, as he stepped out the door. "Goodbye."

Draco waited silently, and did not release hold of his breath until he heard the closing of the house's front door. It poured out of his mouth in one, long and shaky hiss of air, his shoulders visibly slumping forward as he finally succumbed to the heavy weight pressing down on him from all angles.

Everything hurt. It all just _fucking hurt_.

His entire body was nothing more than one massive ball of pain, intent on twisting through his bones and organs, freezing his blood and numbing his mind from everything else. He couldn't escape it; each breath he took was more jagged than the last, and it was like his lungs had turned to glass and were tearing him apart from the inside out. His heart convulsed erratically, almost as if it had lost sense of its purpose, and was struggling to survive – just like him.

He closed his eyes and –

_The clear blue eyes of his mother looked up at him, glassy with death…_

He gasped, and his eyes flew open. His throat became constricted and he let out a strangled noise that sounded foreign to his ears. It didn't feel right – it wasn't _him_ – and he hated it. The pain intensified and his eyes burned and blurred, filling up with unwanted tears that he refused to shed.

"_Tears are a sign of weakness, Draco."_

He was _not_ weak.

But it was as if he had no control over his own mind – over his own body – and against his will, the salty water spilled down onto his cheeks in a continuous stream. The pain ate away at him, but at the same time there was something… _refreshing_, as if he was finally being cleansed. He felt heavy and light at the same time; he felt trapped, but he also felt free.

It was if something had shifted; as if he had finally taken a step towards something that was ultimately scary but worthwhile at the same time. He couldn't explain it, and he found himself not wanting to explain it.

For once he was just going to let it _be_.

Come tomorrow he would have his walls back up, and his current state would be nothing more than a memory; a mere image, vague and distant in the aftermath of it all. It was just a moment that, in the greater scheme of things, would be insignificant.

(It was a sign that he could still _feel_).

Today had been his nineteenth birthday.

* * *

_(Simultaneously)_

If there was one thing Hermione Granger hated in life, then it was a lack of progress. The thought of being stuck in a rut for an uncertain period of time and of not knowing something, made her feel agitated, frustrated, downright stressed and, most of all, a complete and utter _failure_. To an extent, she had nobody else to blame but herself on that front; after years and years of trying and succeeding in everything she had ever done, admitting defeat was not an option to take. No matter how long it took, Hermione's determined nature would have her working night and day if it meant she made some headway on whatever it was that had her undivided attention.

Her current obsession was Horcruxes, as it had been for the past two years, ever since she, Harry and Ron had left Hogwarts, set on destroying them. So far, however, they had had no luck. Not only was it almost impossible to think of the places Voldemort would've most likely of hid them, but the information on them was scarce as well. It was hardly surprising, considering how dark and disgusting that particular piece of magic was, but it annoyed Hermione all the same. Her beloved books had let her down, and she couldn't help but feel slightly responsible for the fact that Lord Voldemort was still at large.

Years and years of playing the brains had taken its toll, and the fact that she was unable to give her best friend the answers that he desperately needed was most definitely getting to her. She hated the disappointed looks she received from Harry when they reached a dead end; she knew he didn't mean it in the way she interpreted them, but that still didn't stop them from hurting her deeply.

_Next time_, she would constantly think, carrying on with even more vigour than before. _Next time, we'll have the information we need_.

With a groan, Hermione closed the tome with a heavy thud, which echoed around the silent chambers of the room. Another day gone, another day wasted – or so she thought. For the best part of ten hours, other than to eat or hear that Remus and Tonks were leaving to meet a contact, the brunette had spent most of her day hoarded up in her bedroom, desperately searching for any clue that could aid herself, Harry and Ron in their quest to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes.

None of the information she had found in today's readings – _Moste Darkeste of Magick_, _V__ictrices__M__ors _or _The Dark Arts: Deathly Curses_ – had been remotely helpful. Despite being the darkest of books, nearly making Hermione gag at some of the curses and potions they described, they _clearly_ weren't dark enough to hold the one thing that she desired to know more than anything else.

"_Maybe we should tell the Order_." Ron's suggestion from the other week came floating into her mind, and the young witch frowned once more. "_Perhaps they will know something about Horcruxes_."

Ron's suggestion had immediately been squashed by Harry, who was determined to not let anyone else in on their secret, just as he had promised Dumbledore. He ignored the fact that Dumbledore was dead, that Dumbledore had left them with hardly any – oh, alright _no_ information on the subject; a promise was a promise, and this particular promise went to beyond the grave.

At the time, Hermione had agreed with Harry – _"The more people who know, Ron, the more likely Voldemort will find out." _– but as she currently thought about it, and took into account how little they actually knew, she had to admit that perhaps her red-headed friend did have the right idea. They did need all the help they could get, after all. Whether Harry saw it like that, was an entirely different matter altogether.

Unable to think of Voldemort's fragmented soul any longer, Hermione picked up her wand, flicked it and sent the three books on her desk back onto the shelf. This war had been going on far too long, just like all wars ever did.

Like she did every day after finishing her research, Hermione automatically turned to look at the photo frame propped up on her bedside table. Staring back at her were the familiar figures of her mum and dad, both of them smiling happily at her, as they stood together in front of the Christmas tree in their living room. She had taken the photo in the winter holidays of her sixth year, and it was currently the last one she had of them.

For a second she felt numb – she always did when she first glanced at the photo – but then the feeling of pain and despair took over in her heart, and a single tear fell as she began to study her parents' faces intensely, silently wondering if she'd ever see them again.

(_July 20__th__ 1997)_

"_Hermione, tea's ready."_

_For a brief second she closed her eyes, forcing down the onslaught of emotions that had pierced her heart at the sound of her mother's voice. They quickly flashed back open again, blinking the tears away, and she let out a steadying breath. There was no turning back, not when she had come this far. Her decision was final, and she could not afford to change it now. _

It's for the best.

"_Coming, Mum." Hermione had tried to keep her voice steady, but the strain as it gave way to a supressed sob rang clearly in ears. She could only hope that her parents hadn't noticed it, only thinking that her voice sounded slightly distorted due to her closed bedroom door, the walls and the floor that currently separated them._

_With wand in hand, she took a final look around her room, the last remnants of her innocence slipping away as time ticked forever onwards. For nearly the past seventeen years of her life, other than when she was away at school, this place had been her home; this room had been her sanctuary. But it was to be no more; as from that moment, such a haven was to disappear, just like her parents had to and just like she would as well. _

It's for the best.

_The choice hadn't been easy, and executing her decision was even harder – more so than she had imagined – but regardless of this, she knew it had to be done. It was the only way she could save her parents. _

_Straightening her shoulders back, the brunette witch shook her head as if the physical action would clear it, her riotous curls bouncing erratically at the movement. Then, almost as if she were detached and watching the scene in slow motion from the side-lines, Hermione made her way out of her bedroom and walked down the stairs. Coming from the living room, she could hear her parents' unsuspecting voices, chattering happily away. _

_The ache in her chest grew tenfold. _

_With one final step, Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, which ended directly next to the lounge in which her parents sat. As she tried to calm her nerves and drink in the sight of her parents as much as possible, she silently watched her mum pouring out three cups of tea and her father open up his copy of the local newspaper. _

It's for the best.

_The words echoed in her head like a mantra. _

_Closing her eyes, as if unable to physically look at her parents as she began to cast the spell that would save their lives, Hermione started to focus on the story she had fabricated to ensure their safety._

Your names are Wendall and Monica Wilkins and you have just made the decision to move to Sydney, Australia. You have no children.

_Pause._

Your names are Wendall and Monica Wilkins and you have just made the decision to move to Sydney, Australia. You have no children.

_Pause. _

Your names are Wendall and Monica Wilkins and you have just made the decision to move to Sydney, Australia. You have no children.

_Three times she repeated the lie in her head, each time her heart breaking even more. _

_Eventually, Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and she stared determinedly at the back of her parents heads, who were completely unaware of what she was about to execute. With a final intake of breath, she uttered the one word which would change their lives as they all knew it._

"_Obliviate." _

The sudden hurried thuds of footsteps broke Hermione out of her thoughts, and she just had time to wipe her eyes before the door to her bedroom burst open and Ron Weasley stumbled in.

"Hermione!" He cried, as if he weren't standing a few feet away from her. "Hermione, quick!"

Immediately, the Gryffindor jumped to her feet, worried by his erratic tone. His cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes bright, a keen sign that something had happened. "What is it?" She asked, as Ron grabbed hold of her arm and began to drag her out of her room, and down the stairs. "Ron?"

"No time… explain…" The redhead huffed, not slackening his grip on her wrist. "Tonks… Lupin… returned…Big news…" Still out of breath from his run up to fetch her, Hermione was only able to catch a couple of Ron's panted out words.

Knowing it was futile to try and glean anymore information out of her friend, Hermione thought it best to remain silent and ask no more questions, but instead try and wait patiently for whatever news Tonks and Remus had for them.

She followed Ron into a full kitchen, which was tense with silence, and sent tight smiles to the couple sitting down at the head of the table. Both Lupin and his wife were frowning; though Hermione thought Tonks' furrowed brow was more of a scowl, rather than as if she were lost in thought. Either way, neither Tonks nor Lupin looked particularly happy and Hermione felt her stomach and heart clench, worry filling her senses and sending a shiver down her spine.

Whatever news Lupin and Tonks had to tell, she knew that it would be far from good.

As soon as she was seated between Ron and Fred, and they had been joined by a few more Order members, her former professor slid back his chair and stood up. His hazel eyes circled the room once, surveying each figure intently for a few seconds, and cleared his throat. Everyone, save for Tonks who was still glaring down at the table, continued to look at the man they considered their leader, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"As you are all aware," Remus began, folding his hands behind his back. "For the last year and a half, we have been receiving valuable information from an anonymous source – a source, I hasten to add, we believed to be deeply involved with Voldemort's inner circle, or at least had a contact of some kind with a person who did." He paused for a second, looked at his wife, swallowed and then continued. "Unfortunately, four days ago, our spy was discovered, as a result of some… _difficult_ circumstances surrounding a particular situation."

Murmurs broke out at this revelation, and worried glances were sent to one another before they quickly brought their attention back on Remus. During this interval, Hermione had shot a look at Harry; their eyes had met, and they both narrowed them simultaneously.

"Are they alright? They're not _dead_ are they?" It was Padma Patil, one of the Order's newest recruits, who had dared to voice the dreaded question.

"No, they're not." Eyebrows were raised in surprise as Tonks ground out that piece of particular information. Her hair was turning red in anger, and all colour had drained from her face. At the same time, there was also an instant relief.

"Well that's a good thing, isn't it?" Padma continued, pushing some hair behind her ear. "That means they can come and join us; they can come and help fight."

Hermione watched with a sense of dread as Lupin's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with… _something_ she couldn't quite explain. Obviously the identity of the anonymous spy hadn't gone down all too well, and her mind began to buzz with the possibilities of who it could be.

"Perhaps," Lupin started slowly, nodding his head reluctantly. "We'll have to see. There are some… _trust_ issues which need to addressed first. We will be moving this person here, admittedly, but as to whether or not they participate in any other business remains to be seen." He shot a look at his wife at that, resentment swimming into his eyes for a mere fraction of a second.

Hermione frowned, uncomfortable by Lupin's choice in wording and the sudden glare at Tonks. Clearly there had been some dispute between the married couple over this person.

"But surely they've proven themselves, Remus?" Harry asked, and a few people nodded in agreement, Ron included.

"I for one agree with you, Harry." Lupin replied, smiling tightly. "However, I'm afraid that some people don't share that sentiment." Though he was vague in this last comment, everyone knew that he was referring to the seething woman next to him. "For the past eighteen months this person has risked their life for our cause –"

"Well of course I don't!" Tonks suddenly snapped, interrupting her husband. "And nor will this lot when they find out who our spy is. You can't be serious in thinking he'll be accepted here, not after all he's done!"

"He?" Harry echoed. "So the spy is a male?"

Lupin nodded. "Yes, they are. And even though most of us here have had some trouble with this particular character in the past, I hope you appreciate what he has done for us even if you may find it hard to… forgive. He's not the same person that he used to be, even if he tries very hard to make us believe otherwise."

Tonks let out a snort. "A leopard never changes its spots, Remus." She quipped, smiling tightly at him.

"Who is it, Lupin?" Harry asked, lips pursing together.

Surveying the silent and expectant room, Hermione's former professor drew in a single breath before he breathed out the identity of their informant. Even though she had braced herself for the worst, the two words that followed were still like a punch to Hermione's gut:

"It's Malfoy," Remus breathed in a rush. "Draco Malfoy."

* * *

**Author's Note: **So here is Chapter 1 for you lovely people. I really hope you enjoyed it and please let me know your thoughts with a review. Next update will be in about two weeks so until then: thank you very much for reading!

:)

VickytoriaGreengrass


	3. II: Firsts

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

* * *

II: Firsts

_(14__th__ June 1999)_

The headquarters to the _Order of the Phoenix_ were hardly something to boast about, in Draco's opinion. Dank, dark, dreary and far from what he had expected, the ancestral home of his mother was quite possibly the most inhabitable place of residence he had ever had the displeasure to step foot in. Then again, it did currently belong to Potter of all people, so he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

It had been six days. Six days, five hours and forty two – no wait, forty _three_ – minutes since Draco had been brought back to Grimmauld Place. Upon his arrival, it was quite clear to the blond that the near entirety of Order members were present to stare him in, their faces a mixture of hatred, curiosity and suspicion.

Whispers had flown, and Draco had heard them all. However, instead of retaliating like he so desperately wanted to, Draco determinedly kept his mouth shut, his head down and his feet moving.

Among the crowd there had been many a familiar face, though the most recognisable of them all had certainly been those of Potter, Weasley and Granger. Just like the rest of the Order, the trio had held very similar looks of dislike and distrust, though there had also been a look of… _something_ in Granger's eye that Draco had found both unreadable and uncomfortable. However, quickly brushing off the feeling that he was soon to become the Muggleborn's latest pity project, the young Malfoy had hurried his footsteps and followed Lupin up the stairs.

He hadn't seen any of them since.

Other than when he was called out for interrogation – there were still a few people who didn't seem to trust him apparently – Draco kept to himself, shut off from the rest of the house by taking up a permanent residence in his bedroom. His only visitor was Mrs Weasley, who came in three times a day with either breakfast, dinner or lunch. She never said anything to the blond young man – which he was grateful for as he did not, on any circumstance, want to start a conversation with a Weasley – but made her visits brief, only spending enough time in his bedroom to drop off his food, and then pick up his plate from the meal before. Her routine ended with a quick, tight smile as she closed the door and then she would be gone, leaving Draco at peace once more.

His moments of solitary contemplation, however, were far from peaceful. His entire being was still raw from the events of Narcissa's death, which had opened a never-ending vortex of memories for him. Now tinged with guilt, now marred with his mother's blood, Draco couldn't look back on all the information he had gathered and then passed onto the Order with a clear conscience; he could no longer see his choice in actions as right.

_It should have been me_.

The truth behind this thought rung with a sharp clarity for the blond wizard, who knew that he would forever hold the responsibility for his mother's death. His whole life felt like one continuous line of mistakes and regrets. No matter what he did everything always turned out wrong; he could never do anything right, as even that fell to pieces…

_Mother's death is proof of that_.

Draco had never intentionally set out to become a secret agent, working for the Order. After that fateful night upon the astronomy tower, Draco's choice in returning to the Dark Lord had been one out of a mixture of cowardice and the desire to actually prove himself worthy of Lord Voldemort's praise. Though disenchanted by Voldemort's cause by this time, having finally woken up to the reality of it all, the young Malfoy had felt lost and confused, uncertain of what to do or where to go. Scared for his own life and his parents' lives, he had eventually chosen to return to the familiar.

Revelations before that choice, however, had caused Draco to start thinking. And while he had seemingly embraced the ways of a Death Eater upon his homecoming, deep down Draco had been fighting an inner turmoil between what was right and wrong. The young man would always remember the day that it all became clear to him, as that was when everything had started to change.

_(16__th__ October 1997)_

"_The French bitch won't know what's coming to her," Yaxley crooned, downing his tumbler of fire whiskey and slamming the crystal glass onto the table. "Both her and that blood traitor husband of hers." His lips curled into further disgust and he spat onto the floor. "She should have known better than to marry into a family like the Weasleys – no less than she deserves, if you ask me." _

_Draco's stomach churned as he continued to listen to Yaxley's graphic description of how he was going to "deal" with Fleur Delacour. Proudly boasting to Dolohov and Macnair the task that the Dark Lord had behest him, the blond Death Eater did not seem to care who heard of his upcoming conquest. His appetite for murder fuelled by copious amounts of alcohol and a willing audience always proved to be a deadly combination. _

"_You going to make 'er husband watch, Tynan?" Macnair asked, his voice full of twisted delight, Dolohov nodding hungrily beside him. _

"_Perhaps," Yaxley grinned slyly. "You will just have to wait and see, boys." He poured himself another glass, threw back his head and took the amber liquid in one. _

_Unable to bear the conversation any longer, Draco arose from where he had been hiding in the corner of the Manor's drawing room. Deeply emerged in their conversation, none of the three men saw him slip out of the room, walk a couple of feet in hurried steps before breaking into a run._

_Two minutes later the door to his bedroom closed with a _slam_. Breathing heavily, his feet automatically paced up and down the dark green carpet, his mind replaying Yaxley's words on a constant loop, each echo twisting his gut tighter and tighter. _

_He felt sick. _

_As much as he disliked the Weasley family, even Draco would never wish such horrors upon them. Tonight's talk had been a wakeup call for the blond, and the youngest Malfoy now knew that he could no longer sit idly by and allow the Dark Lord's plans come to fruition. _

But how can I…?

_A soft hoot from the corner of his room had Draco turning sharply towards the sound, his eyes alight with realisation. It was risky, he knew, but as of now the only way to pass on the information he had gathered…_

_Quickly, before he was overcome by hesitation and cowardice, Draco marched over to his desk, opened a draw and grabbed a quill and parchment. He hurriedly dipped it into his ink before scribbling down a hasty note of warning: _

Eldest Weasley and wife are not safe. An attack on their house is imminent. Heed my words or face the consequences.

_Draco placed his quill down, flicked his wand over the letter to dry off the excess ink and hastily rolled it up, sealing it with another tap of his wand._

"_Hera," he whispered softly, beckoning his owl over. She obeyed immediately, gracefully landing on the edge of his desk seconds later, sticking her leg out, ready to receive her load. Smiling tightly, Draco ran one pale and aristocratic finger across her head before tying the letter on. "Take this to the house of Andromeda Tonks," he told her uncertainly, wondering if his estranged aunt was the best person to send this to. "Fly swiftly, don't get caught and return immediately – it will not do you any good to linger. If you're seen…" _

_He left the words hanging. If he dared to utter them then he knew that what little courage he had managed to build up in the last twenty minutes would evaporate immediately. Sometimes things were better left unsaid._

_Perched on his arm, Draco led his owl to the window. As soon as the cool autumn air hit his face, Hera leapt off into the night sky, her wings falling elegantly and she soared gracefully into the moonlit night. For a few minutes, Draco watched as the owl's frame grew smaller and smaller, his head wringing with a torrent of emotions. _

_Closing the window, he rested his head upon the cool pane, enjoying how soothing the cold glass felt upon his burning forehead. With his eyes closed, only one thought rattled repetitively through his mind: _What have I just done?

* * *

Draco Malfoy's arrival at Headquarters had thrown everybody off kilter, especially Hermione who found her thoughts constantly consumed by the arrogant blond. Intrigued by his defection, though as of yet to know the full story of all that had happened in the two years since the events on the astronomy tower, the Gryffindor witch found her usual efficiency lacking when it came to concentrating on what really mattered: finding out all she could about Horcruxes.

Instead, she would find her mind wandering, desperate to know all she could about Malfoy. In no way did she like him, and in no way could she ever forgive him, but he stood in her way as an enigma – an enigma that she so desperately wanted to unwrap. Perhaps if she was able to learn the reason behind Malfoy's change of heart, then the easier it would be to bring back her attention to the job at hand…

_Considered to be one of the foulest aspects of magic, _Hermione read quickly, her eyes alight as she grew to realise that she had finally found something useful,_ a Horcrux is a partitioning of the soul, and is only created upon deliberately taking the life of another human being. A spell only cast by the darkest of wizards, the making of the Horcrux takes a month of preparation, and is seen as working most efficiently when the murder in mind has a strong significance to the caster. _

_The effects of this spell will leave the wizard or witch in question as close to immortality as it is possible to reach, though if discovered then the Horcrux in question can be destroyed. A Horcrux can only be destroyed, however, by a substance which will render it useless. Similar to how it was created, only complete death of the fragment will prevent the Horcrux from being effective. _

Hermione looked up, her heart beating erratically. Admittedly it wasn't much, but for the time being it was a start; walking blindly the last two years meant that the two paragraphs she had just read held more information than even she could have currently dreamed of. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

_Finally_, she thought as she scribbled down the key information. _Finally, we have something_.

A sudden commotion from downstairs had Hermione sitting up in her chair. A buzz of excited voices could be heard from down in the hallway, and curious about who it could be, Hermione slid back her chair and got up. The sight that met her as she came down the stairs left her smiling.

"Oh thank goodness," Mrs Weasley was crying, wrapping her arms tightly around the tall frame of her eldest son, Bill. "Oh thank Merlin you're all safe."

"Yeah well," growled the voice of Alastor Moody, "we very nearly weren't. If it wasn't for some quick thinking on Lovegood's part we would all be dead. It was an ambush, Molly. The information we received was a trap – they knew we were coming. Now, how about some food – we can fill you with the finer details later." He clunked off into the kitchen, his magical eye swinging wildly.

Hermione remained where she was, her eyes sweeping over the still crowded hallway, searching for one person in particular.

"He's over there," the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood explained, as she drifted past Hermione. She gestured to a dark corner behind her. Eyes narrowed Hermione followed the blonde witch's arm, and was just able to make out the dark profile of the person she had been looking for, only to see that he was deep in conversation with Lupin.

Hermione made her way over, her heart beating erratically as she inched ever closer to the person she desperately needed to see. She arrived just as Lupin walked away, and before the figure could talk to anyone else, she reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

Immediately he spun round, and two pairs of brown eyes locked. "Yes?" the figure drawled, folding his arms, and leaning against the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione plunged in. "You were right," she breathed, a shadow of disbelief still evident even though she had since had time to become used to the idea. "I don't know how you knew, but you were right. He's here."

* * *

From up in his room Draco could hear the babble of noise coming from downstairs and, considering he could hear no tears of anger or pain, he allowed himself to assume that whatever was going on down below was the result of a happy occurrence. Though intrigued and itching to see what was happening, his principle of staying in his room unless absolutely necessary prevented the blond Slytherin from even moving off of his bed. He would find out about it all eventually.

Jumping at the sound of heavy footsteps running up the stairs, Draco barely had time to compose himself before the door to his room banged open. A tall, slim figure stood in the frame, panting heavily, his mouth and eyes open wide in shock. Draco wouldn't have been surprised to see his own face in a similar expression.

"Blaise?" He gasped, as the dark-skinned wizard stepped into the room.

"So it is true, then – you're actually here." Draco slowly nodded. "About bloody time," Zabini continued with a smirk, as he closed the door. "If you had left it a couple of more weeks then I'd have lost my wager."

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and aiming a glare at his fellow Slytherin, silently demanding for the other wizard to explain himself fully. Once upon a time this would have easily got Draco his own way, but instead of the response he had expected from the black wizard all Blaise did was roll his eyes.

"Don't even bother with one of those, Malfoy," Zabini continued sitting down on the edge of Draco's bed. "I've been living here with Granger for a year – your glares have got nothing on hers. And let's not even get started on Mad-Eye."

Draco remained silent. He still couldn't quite get his head around the fact that one of his former school friends was currently residing at the Headquarters of the Order. Though he had always known that Blaise had had no intention of joining the ranks of the Dark Lord, despite his seemingly strong beliefs in blood purity, Draco had been unaware of Zabini's defection being so drastic.

"Where have you been then?" Draco challenged, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Blaise. His expectant expression demanded an answer. "I've been here for almost a week, and not once have I heard mention of you or seen you."

"Away," Zabini shrugged. "I've been on a mission for the past three weeks in Ireland, investigating a lead which, I'm assuming, you told us about." He glared at Draco as he said this, his nostrils flaring. "We nearly died, no thanks to you."

Draco's insides went cold as the impact and reality of Blaise's words hit him. He remembered the information well, having overheard his parents talking about it one night after Lucius had returned from a meeting. Immediately he had alerted the Order to what he had thought was a crucial move from Voldemort, desperate to stop the innocent bloodshed that was to occur in the city of Dublin if the dark wizard had been successful…

A week later, his mother was dead.

Draco swallowed the lump that had formed inside his throat, and took a deep breath. "I – I didn't know," he admitted, his tongue feeling heavy and swollen. "I just passed on what I had learnt. I swear I had no idea that he suspected anyone."

"Yes, well," Blaise gritted out. "You weren't the one who had to pay the price for it. If it hadn't been for Luna…"

They fell into a cold silence, neither truly wanting to speak to the other. Draco could clearly see that, despite his initially warm welcome, Zabini still held some resentment towards the blond, further fuelled by the disastrous events of his most recent mission.

"You're wrong about one thing, though," Draco finally muttered, his lips curling. "I did pay the price." Blaise looked at him quizzically. "Voldemort had Lucius kill my mother. He thought that she was the spy."

Draco's admission did not create the response he had thought it would.

"And yet you're here?" Blaise asked, not even reacting to Draco's news. "As much as I'm sorry to hear about Narcissa, Malfoy –" his unfeeling tone suggested otherwise "– you could have used this to your advantage and gained more information by staying behind enemy lines. Why did you turn coward and run?"

Draco stiffened, his nose starting to twist upwards in silent fury. There was something about the accusatory tone in Blaise's voice that had Draco's already-thin temper flaring. "Because Lucius found out that it was me," he snarled. "After he killed Mother we had a confrontation – in my anger I let slip that it had been me all along. Of course I couldn't stay after that."

He kept it short and sweet, but his anger and distaste towards Zabini's accusation had been made perfectly clear. After all he had done for _them_…

_Ungrateful sod_.

Zabini had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. "I apologise," he said with a grimace. "That was out of order. It is a good thing you're here, Malfoy, I swear. I shouldn't be taking my anger out on you, it's not fair."

"You don't say," Draco snorted. "I know we're hardly going to be on the best of terms, Blaise, not after everything that's happened, but considering we're currently the only two Slytherin's here…"

Draco left his sentence hanging, his pride stopping him from admitting that what he really needed in that moment was some form of familiarity. Not quite a friend, no, but at least someone who wasn't on the verge of cursing him into oblivion every five seconds.

As to show he understood, Zabini nodded.

Another silence fell among them, though this time it wasn't as tense. A million questions flew through Draco's mind, and the blond Slytherin found himself unable to pick just one to ask first. In the end he chose the question that seemed the most suitable. It would be the one that would perhaps give him the most answers.

"What made you join the Order then?" He asked, his eyes flicking around the interior of his dark room. "I mean, I knew you were opposed to the Dark Lord's cause, but never did I think to see you here. Quite an extreme decision don't you think?"

At first, Draco thought that Zabini wasn't going to reply but then, much to his consternation, Blaise smiled. A smile that was completely different to his usual smirk or wry grin.

"Honestly?" Blaise asked, and Draco gave an imperceptible nod of his head. "Luna."

Draco raised one of his pale eyebrows. Of all the things that he had been expecting, the name of the crazy Ravenclaw had not been one of them. "Lovegood?" Draco echoed, disbelief evident. "What has Looney got to do with any of this?"

"Everything," Blaise answered waspishly, glaring at Draco for his cruel remark towards the blonde Ravenclaw. "If it hadn't been for her then I would never have recognised how ridiculous the beliefs of blood purity were." Again Draco watched bemusedly as Blaise began to smile goofily. "It was because of her that I began to see sense, Draco," he sighed. "She changed my life."

(_17__th__ February 1998)_

_It was getting late and Blaise knew that he was nowhere near finishing his Potion's essay for Professor Slughorn, even though he was very much aware of it being due in the following day. Rain lashed heavily down on the library windows like tiny bullets, and it was doing nothing to help soothe the blinding headache that had been forming in his temple for the best part of the day. Everything seemed doubly bright and a blind spot was now forming in the centre of his left eye, growing steadily larger each time he blinked._

_Coming to the decision that he was just going to have leave his essay as a bad job, he began to pack away his belongings as quickly as his lethargic mind would allow, desperate to reach the warm comfort of his bed. All being well, he'd be able to sleep the imminent migraine off and, upon rising early, complete the remainder of his homework the following morning._

_At this thought he let out a moan and began muttering to himself about how much he despised getting up at such an ungodly hour. Too immersed in his mutterings and making sure he had all that he required, the normally-alert Slytherin remained oblivious to any signs of company until a soft clearing of the throat. He stood up, turned round and groaned._

Of all the people…

"_Leave me alone, Lovegood," he snarled as the Ravenclaw's unwavering gaze never left his. "I am not in the mood to be dealing with the likes of you." He flexed his left hand, desperate to reach for his wand._

"_According to some people, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Luna explained, cocking her head to one side, completely unfazed by Blaise's foul temper. "I beg to differ though: you've clearly got a bad case of wrackspurts." She looked at him sympathetically and sighed deeply. _

"_Listen, blood traitor," Blaise sneered, brushing past her. "I do not have the time nor the patience to be dealing with your ridiculous beliefs right now, so do us both a favour and _leave me alone_!"_

_He turned to go but was stopped by her reply. _

"_If anyone has the ridiculous beliefs here, Zabini, then it's you." Her voice had lost its dreamy edge, sounding harsher than the Slytherin had ever heard it before. It had caught him off guard, and he felt a sudden to compulsion to listen to her. "Tell me_, Blaise_, what gives you the right to think that Muggleborns are beneath you, purely because they weren't born into a wizarding family?" _

_For a couple of seconds, Blaise's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, his brain trying to form a coherent answer to Lovegood's question. When nothing came out save for an old rattling stutter, the Slytherin quickly made to leave the library once more. _

"_I really don't have time for this." He hissed again. _

"_Okay, let's phrase this another way, then: what if this war wasn't about blood but about the colour of a person's skin? You see, in the Muggle world, about thirty years ago now, there was a man named Martin Luther King, and he was a great advocate for there being equality for the African-American people of America." Blaise froze and felt his entire being seize up at Lovegood's words. "During that time there was a great divide between the black and white communities, and black people were seen as second class citizens – much as to how you and the likes of Malfoy, Crabbe, Parkinson and Nott, for example, see people who have Muggle parentage. So tell me, _Blaise_, how does that make you feel to know that people were once persecuted just because of their skin colour? Is that fair, being made to feel so low by a factor that is completely outside of one's control?" _

_At this revelation a lump had formed in Blaise's throat, and the dark Slytherin momentarily thought that he was going to be sick. Swallowing down the urge, he dared a glance back at the blonde witch, only to find her staring serenely at him, her face a perfect mask of curiosity and innocence. As much as he was loath to admit it, Lovegood had a point._

"_Well?" _

_Tensing up like a wounded animal, Blaise narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw. "Leave me alone, Lovegood," he spat one last time, and stalked out of the library before Luna could say anything more that would leave him feeling uncomfortable. _

"And, well, after that confrontation, and a hell of a lot of thinking, I knew that I couldn't continue living with the beliefs that I had for so long thought to be true."

Blaise fell silent; having finished telling Draco about the night that he had finally been forced to wake up to the realities and the ridiculousness of his beliefs. "I mean, think about it this way: What if the war we were currently fighting wasn't about blood purity but about the colour of a person's skin? Blood is blood – it shouldn't matter as to whether we're from a wizarding family or a Muggle one. We're still human, after all."

Draco found himself nodding slowly. Though he had come to the conclusion some time ago that the long-bought lie of the purity of blood was a stupid notion, Blaise's take on the whole situation had further helped ground this idea.

"It took me some time admittedly," Blaise explained, "but after a while, I sought Luna out again, and she really helped to consolidate my new found reasoning."

"And somewhere between all that, you actually fell for Lovegood as well, didn't you?" Draco smirked, though his insides were churning at the thought of Blaise and the Ravenclaw together.

"Is it that obvious?" Blaise asked, to which Draco nodded.

"Very," the blond replied. "Not quite sure as to what I make of it though. Luna Lovegood, Blaise, really?"

"Watch it," Zabini warned, though his corners twitched slightly to take the bite out of his words. "There's more to Luna than meets the eye, you know. Yes, she can be a bit unusual, but she's got amazing insight – really sees things that others miss – and, in between all her odd beliefs, she's incredibly knowledgeable, clever and wise. I'm sure you will see it soon enough."

"Can't wait," Draco answered drily.

"Look," Blaise began, scratching the back of his neck as he stood up. "Dinner's going to be ready soon – why don't you come down and join us all for once? Granger told me that you've not left your room since –"

"I doubt I'd be welcome," Draco interrupted. "Not after… everything."

"You're officially part of the Order now, Malfoy," Blaise reminded him. "Sooner or later you are going to have put some trust into us, which in return will mean that we'll start trusting you. Interacting with them now, especially with _you_ being the one to make the first move, will help you further on down the line, trust me. I've been here myself, and this is the best way to get the ball rolling."

The thought of sitting down to dinner with a bunch of Weasleys, Potter, Granger, Lovegood and the rest of the Order was far from appealing to Draco, who much preferred his current room of habitation. However, with the truth of Zabini's words ringing clearly in his ears, the young Malfoy knew that the sooner he stepped out of his comfort zone and began to prove himself to the Order, than the easier it would be for all of them.

"Fine," he snapped, gracefully rolling off the bed. "I'll go to dinner with you, Blaise. But I warn you now though, if they try to kill me, I am taking you down as well."

Blaise raised an eyebrow and shot an infuriated Draco a cocky grin. "I'd like to see you try," he said opening the door.

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair, to say the least. Seeing Malfoy for the first time since he'd arrived had set everyone on edge, and for the first ten minutes of eating no one dared to utter a word, perhaps afraid that it could spark off some unneeded trouble.

Malfoy sat at the opposite end to where Hermione was seated with Harry, Ron and Ginny, and for that the brunette was grateful. On either side of her, Harry and Ron were silently seething at how nonchalantly the blond seemed to be eating his dinner, looking quite comfortable next to Blaise, even if he didn't fit the bigger picture within the room. He was an anomaly, a speck of irremovable dirt, marring a once clean surface; he stood out, unable to blend in… unable to be removed.

Other than Zabini, there were only two other people who seemed reasonably comfortable with Malfoy's appearance: Luna and Mrs Weasley. Luna's acceptance, or so Hermione felt, was most likely on Blaise's part, very much aware from personal experience as to how hard it had been for her boyfriend to become accepted by the wider circles of the Order. As for Mrs Weasley, Hermione was in no doubt that it was due to her naturally maternal instinct and the fact that she had been the only constant in Malfoy's life since his arrival, having brought him his meals throughout the day.

From a couple of seats down, Hermione could hear the heavy breathing of Mad-Eye, who had continued to burn holes into the front of Malfoy's skull ever since he had appeared in the kitchen's doorway. As loathe as she was to admit, the Gryffindor witch couldn't help but be silently impressed with how calm and composed Malfoy was taking this onslaught, despite being very much aware of Moody's hate-filled and suspicious glare. Any minute now, Hermione knew, and Alastor would make his first disparaging mark. There was most certainly no love lost between these two.

Hermione took another bite from her chicken.

"Thank you for that, Mrs Weasley," Blaise finally uttered, breaking the kitchen from its deafening silence. "The casserole was simply delicious. By the fact that none of us seem to be talking, I'm sure that we can all agree on that."

Several people shot glares at Blaise, who seemed unfazed by their reaction. Others mumbled their agreement half-heartedly, very much aware of what Zabini was trying to get at.

"You're very welcome, dear," Mrs Weasley replied, smiling kindly. She leant forwards slightly so as to look at the quiet man next to him. "Have you got enough there, Draco? There's still plenty left over for seconds if you would like some."

Malfoy looked up, his eyes briefly flickering in quickly-concealed surprise as he registered Mrs Weasley speaking to him. "Yes," he answered the matronly woman with cool politeness. "It is very nice; this portion is more than sufficient, thank you."

"Well, if you're sure."

Malfoy went back to eating his meal in silence, his posture stiff. He ate robotically, determination shadowing his eyes. It was clear to Hermione that the Slytherin was doing his utmost best to not provoke anyone, even though his mere presence was doing just that.

"Are you sure he should be allowed down here, Lupin?" Moody barked, unable to keep his silence any longer. "Are you sure that we can trust him?"

"Oh yes," Blaise drawled sarcastically. "Because eating dinner with us is a real threat. What's Draco going to do? Pass on Mrs Weasley's family recipes to the Death Eaters? Don't be a moron, Mad-Eye!"

Hermione's eyes widened at Blaise's brazen disrespect, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. For a few seconds the room waited with baited breath, certain that the former Auror was about to fling a hex at the black wizard…

"I just want to be sure, Zabini, that's all." Moody explained, breathing out deeply. "Constant vigilance, remember."

"Perhaps it would be better for me to leave," Malfoy said, his voice brittle.

"Yes," cried a couple of people at Malfoy's suggestion, just as several other voices replied with a "No."

Hermione was shocked to hear her own voice among those from the latter.

"What is wrong with you?" Ron hissed, looking incredulously at her. "This is _Malfoy_ we're talking about here."

Hermione shrugged in return. "I don't know," she whispered back, always the voice of reason. "We're going to have to start somewhere aren't we? Might as well be now."

Ron scowled, but his silence told Hermione that he had been forced to agree with her.

"Finish your meal, Malfoy," said Lupin. "There is no point in leaving now that you've started. It would be a waste of Molly's marvellous cooking." His word was final.

The rest of dinner turned out to be a quiet affair, though this time the atmosphere wasn't as tense. At times the silence was deafening, but small talk was made here-and-there, giving the setting some form of normalcy, even though every member of that party knew or felt otherwise.

Just like she had done through most of her dinner, though this time interjecting her opinions in conversations shared between Harry, Ginny and Ron, Hermione kept a guarded watch on the blond, determined to try understand… _something_ about him. The Malfoy she knew had suddenly been distorted, and things were no longer black and white.

A part of her still saw him as the schoolboy bully: the one who had victimised her and her friends, the one who had continuously called her "Mudblood", the one who had made it his personal vendetta to ensure that she was made to feel unaccepted in a world where she _did_ belong. She could still see the sneer, the cruel smirks and the cold, grey eyes crystallised with hatred. She remembered the arrogance, the vanity and the _confidence_ that he would exuberate wherever he went…

But now, all she saw was a quiet young man, who still held the capacity to be snarky and cruel when he felt necessary, and yet there was a… _meekness_ about him which did not fit in with the Draco Malfoy that she knew. What had happened to Malfoy in the past two years was still a slight mystery to all but those who had interrogated him; naturally she had heard snatches here-and-there, but for the most part it was all still quite murky. This new persona just didn't sit quite right –

"Can I help you with something, Granger?"

Hermione jumped at the sound of Malfoy's voice, aware that now everyone was staring at her. Too lost in her thoughts, she had completely forgotten that she had now been incessantly staring at the blond for a good ten minutes.

"No," she squeaked, her voice unusually high. "I – I was just thinking, that's all. Got lost in my thoughts. Sorry, Malfoy." She quickly ducked her head, ignoring the curious looks she was now receiving from her two best friends.

"Right," Malfoy drawled, his voice layered with disbelief. "Now, if you would excuse me." Without further ado, the Slytherin pushed back his chair and stood up. He gave a curt nod to the room, almost giving a jerky bow to Mrs Weasley as if to say thank you, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

From beneath her eyelashes, Hermione's gaze followed him out. _Who are you, Draco Malfoy_? she thought as she turned her attention back to Harry once again.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So yeah, I'm crap at updating. So sorry for the long wait but uni is crazy at the moment and finding the time is near on impossible. I hope you enjoyed it though and I'll definitely get the next chapter up before Christmas. Please review and thank you so much for reading.

VickytoriaGreengrass


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